As good as Stendhal or Tolstoy . . . I would rather read him than anyone else now writing
One of the significant novelists of our age.
Makine's wonderful economy of image and phrase convey far more than one could think possible about the Russian soul.
Makine's customary clear-eyed vision and shimmering prose impart, yet again, the heavy knowledge that what is "essential" is experienced by few and obliterated by many.
A powerful story of metaphysical adventure.
Makine packs great steppes-full of history into compact, bejewelled boxes of prose.
Pleasingly clever stuff . . . has an ambition of romantic grandeur that feels genuinely, soulfully Russian.
Masterful . . . Makine has been justly compared with Tolstoy, but here I think the better reference is Joseph Conrad.
A thrilling manhunt through the taiga.